Dread55: No, because I'm not doing it seriously. It's a parody. Next two stories: Leni x Lincoln; Lynncoln set during the zombie apocalypse.

Guest Stereotype: That wasn't the real you?

Levi: I don't know when the Lynn story will be out. I have another chapter or two of this, then the Leni story, to put out first. I'd say sometime in mid-July.

A Fan: What are you talking about? Even the Louds are assholes ;)

A.T. Gunn: From the Wreckage is a story that I've tried to reread just to compare its style to my newer work, but can't. I didn't know it was that sad as I was writing it.


The next morning, Lana did something she hadn't done in a loooong time.

She took a bath.

Lori always said Lana bathes once a month whether she needs it or not; while that wasn't really true, it was pretty dang close. Some people might like feeling squeaky and free of grease, dirt, and grit, but not Lana - her spirit animal was Patrick from Spongebob, especially that episode where he and Spongebob are arguing over which is better, clean or dirty. She was team dirty all the way, baby, and more often than not her mother or father had to chase her to the tub.

Today, however, she went willingly...after doing a little under the hood maintenance, that is. She started by brushing her teeth, which took forever because there was a so much plaque build up that the bristles were yellow by the time she was done. Next she gurgled with mouthwash, and when she spat into the sink, bits of bugs, toenails, rotting food, and God-knows-what littered the basin. Hopps, perched on her shoulder like a pirate's parrot, jumped down, shot out his tongue, and caught a fly carcass. "Ew," she said and crinkled her nose. "You're gross." She rubbed a circle in his head. "That's why I like you."

Hopps croaked that he liked her too.

Done with her teeth, she stripped out of her nightshirt and stood naked in front of the full-length mirror on the door. Hopps, still on her shoulder, looked away as if to preserve her modesty. Heh. "Don't act like you never seen me naked before," she teased and dug a cue tip into her belly button. She went nude all the time, especially in the rain. If Mom or Dad caught her, though, she got in huge trouble. One time Mr. Grouse saw her and called Dad. Loud, your pervert daughter's strutting around in the buff again. You got five minutes until I call CPS. She was grounded for a week, and Dad said if she did it one more time he'd never let her fix or remodel anything ever again, so she had to give it up, but on rainy nights, it was hard to sleep because all that beautiful mud called to her, tempting, begging her to come play in it with no clothes on…

Wincing, she pulled the cue tip out of her belly button and cringed: The cotton was covered in dead bugs, dirt, and lint. "Ew," she laughed. Next she hit her ears, digging out so much wax that it filled one palm almost half way; her mouth started to water and not tossing it into her mouth was the hardest thing she'd ever done in her life. "I gotta be clean," she told the frog as she dropped the wax into the trash. "Being grody is fun, but doing sex with Lincoln will be even funner." She went over to the tub, dropped the stopper into the drain, and turned the faucet on. "The maybe we can do gross sex like in the magazine."

She grabbed a bottle of soap and squirted some in; when the tub was full and bubbly, she got in and sat down, the water stopping just below her neck. Hopps leapt onto the ledge and watched. "You could use a bath too, mister," Lana told the frog. She realized she was still wearing her cap, snatched it off her head, and tossed it aside. Next, she undid her pigtails; her hair was stiff and matted. Holding her breath and pinching her nose, she dunked herself under the surface, then came back up with a gasp. Hopps stared at her for a moment, then leapt, landing on the top of her head. She rolled her eyes up, and he ribbited. "I know, baths stink, but we gotta do it."

First she lathered up her arms and chest with a bar of soap, then went back and got her butt and thing too, since those parts got the grossest; after that, she squeezed a slug of shampoo into her hair and massaged her scalp, her eyes closed and her lips in a lopsided grimace. "Lotta dead skin," she commented. "I wish I could eat it."

Done, she rinsed...and some got into her eyes, which stung bad. She hissed through clenched teeth and slapped her hand against the rim of the tub. "Dirt doesn't do this," she said sullenly.

Someone knocked on the door then, and she sighed. "It's not locked." She figured one of her siblings would need to use the bathroom while she was bathing. Hey, I might look dumb but I'm not.

The door opened and Lincoln poked his head in.

Lana's world came to a crashing halt. Except for her heart, that kicked into overdrive. "Can I pee?" he asked.

In here? With me?

All Lana could do was nod.

"Thanks."

He slipped in, closed the door behind him, and went over to the toilet, his legs planting far apart and his shoulders squaring. He was dressed in only his underwear; they clung snugly to his butt and bulge, leaving lots and lots of smooth, warm skin exposed. Lana's eyes traced the outline of his flexing shoulder blades and the curve of his yummy butt. She craned her neck to the side, hoping to catch a glimpse of his thing, but he moved. Dang it. She was starting to feel all warm and tingly between her legs and she really wanted to see it.

When he jerked a nervous glance over his shoulder, she hurriedly looked away, her cheeks turning red. "Can you close the curtain, please?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure, sorry," she said quickly. She drew the shower curtain...then peeked through the gap: He started peeing, and the sound of his stream hitting the water sent shudders through her core. She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and held it between her teeth; I'll be your toilet, Linc - you can pee on me all night long. Get it all over me, rub it in with your hands and kiss me with your tongue, then cover me with mud and touch your thing against my thing.

Ohhhh, she was feeling really hot now; much more and the water was going to start bubbling.

When Lincoln was done, he shook his thing over the bowl then tucked it back into his pants. Lana pulled away from the gap so that he didn't catch her, then listened to his footsteps. She really wanted to do sex with him now; wanted it more than she wanted mud on rainy nights. The doorhinges squeaked, and her heart dropped. NO! He was leaving, she had to do something.

"Hey, Linc?" she blurted.

"Yeah?" he asked. She could picture him standing there with one hand on the doorknob and his face turned quizzically to the curtain. He looked cute.

He'd look a lot cuter totally naked and covered in runny soap suds. "Uh...do you wanna get in the tub with me?"

There was a tense silence. "Uhh no," he said.

Lana's spirits deflated, and her shoulders. "Oh. Okay."

After he was gone, she sighed and looked at Hopps. "I don't think he likes me," she said, and that admission brought tears to her eyes.

Hopps croaked.

"How do I get him to notice me, though?"

Ribbit.

Lana considered for a moment, then nodded to herself. "That might work. She's gotta know more than me."

Fifteen minutes later, Lana stood in front of her sister with Hopps on her shoulder; she just finished telling her everything (except that the boy she wanted to notice her was Lincoln and that the reason she wanted him to notice her was so they could sex), and was awaiting her decision. "Will you help me?" Lana asked hopefully.

"Hmmm. I guess." Lola, arms crossed and hip cocked, looked her up and down. "It'll be a challenge, but I got nothing else going on." She turned in a swish of blonde hair and went over to her dresser, her butt wiggling under her pink dress. Lola was the closest thing to an expert on getting boys to notice you that Lana had: Every guy in school was in love with her, even the creepy janitor with the long, scraggly hair and beard. Especially the creepy janitor with the long, scraggly hair and beard. Lana was kind of surprised, since Lola was a bitch to everyone. If someone was like that to her, she'd walk away and go eat worms, not offer to carry their books or get their lunch tray, yet every boy Lola met fell all over themselves to be her slave.

It was things like that that made Lana think maybe boys were kind of dumb.

"The first thing you have to do," Lola said over her shoulder, "is not look like a day laborer."

Lana looked down at herself: She wore a light blue shirt under denim overalls and red and white All Stars. "What's wrong with how I'm dressed?" she asked defensively. "These clothes are clean - I made sure."

Rummaging in one of the drawers, Lola pulled something out and turned. She held up a pink dress with a big, gap-toothed smile.

Horror flooded Lana's stomach like ice water. "Oh, no, you are not putting me in a frilly dress." She crossed her arms in defiance. She wanted help getting Lincoln to notice her, not to wind up looking like Lola the second.

"Do you want this boy to notice you or not?" she asked.

"Yes - and I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror."

Lola barked a harsh, humorless laugh. "Honey, you eat toilet paper, a dress is the least of your problems."

A hot, angry blush colored Lana's face. "I'm not wearing a girly dress and that's final."

For a moment Lola simply stared at her...then sighed and tossed the dress aside. "Fine, look like a tranny Dennis the Menace." She went over to the table where her stuffed animals sat in chairs and dropped into an empty one. "I suppose you can captivate this boy regardless. You do have me as a teacher, and I am the most alluring girl in town."

Lori, passing in the hall, snorted laughter and Lola shot her a dirty look. "Alright," she continued, turning to Lana, "grab a seat, this might take a while…"


Lincoln couldn't sit still, so he paced the house making an endless circuit from his room downstairs, into the kitchen, and back again, his hands balled at his sides and his face set in a hard glower. Last night, after his talk with Lori, he did a lot of soul searching, and came to the conclusion that she was right. He didn't do anything wrong. He was nice to Ronnie Anne, attentive, caring, and always treated her right - she was just a heartless bitch who got off on hurting people.

How come it's always the nice guys who wind up getting shit on? Why do girls flock to assholes? Didn't they understand that guys like that were no good, that they didn't really care about them the way guys like Lincoln did? Girls, for some fucked up reason, are attracted to the biggest pieces of shit in the room, the guys who'll cheat on them, lie to them, beat them, get them pregnant then run out (that kid ain't mine). Meanwhile, they step all over guys like him, only to come crawling back when they're a thirty-year-old single mother who can't make ends meet. Marry me! Raise my offspring with another man! Pay for them! Pay for my mistakes and poor life choices. Those are the lucky ones - the others keep winding up with the same type of man again and again, and then, after being screwed over three, four, ten times, they have the audacity to blame all men and to ask where the good men at? Right here, bitch, but they aren't your 'type.'

There's a Bible verse he remembered from Sunday school: As a dog returneth to his vomit, so a fool returneth to his folly. That's women for you: They keep going right back to the type of man who did them wrong in the first place and were too fucking stupid to realize it. Most of these guys were so transparent, too - like Poppa Wheelie. He was loud, rude, crass, belligerent, a bully, and treated everyone around him like dirt. Perfect guy, huh? Put a ring on it, can't let him get away.

You know what, though? Ronnie Anne was the same way, and before long they'd start butting heads, because that's what happens when you're too much like your partner. He'd break up with her, or she with him, and you can bet your bottom dollar she'd turn up on his doorstep the very next day. Hey, lame-o, wanna go to the arcade?

No, I don't, he'd say, then slam the door in her face. She'd realize then what a horrible person she's been, and she would feel awful, just like he felt right now. The prospect made him grin as he climbed the stairs for the fifteenth time that morning. He was sweating and his heart raced, but it felt good to be moving, to burn all of the dark energy pressing against his chest. He reached his door, turned, and went down the steps again.

She'd see, then she'd beg his forgiveness, but he wouldn't let her have it; she didn't deserve it - kissing Poppa Wheelie in front of him like that, putting her tongue into his mouth and giving him what Lincoln wanted so dearly for himself. No, she didn't deserve it at all.

In the living room, he passed behind the couch, and Leni twisted around, her brow creasing. "Why do you keep walking around? Did you lose something?" Her brows shot up. "Is it your contacts?"

Lynn, sprawled on the armchair, legs dangling over one end and ponytail dangling over the other, tossed a football into the air and caught it. "He doesn't wear contacts, genius."

"Oh, right," Leni said, "that's me."

Lynn rolled her eyes; Leni didn't wear contacts either.

In the kitchen, Lincoln went to the sliding glass door, then pulled a crisp about face with military precision. He oughta march over to her house right now and give her a piece of his mind. He could see her now withring under his assault, her eyes widening as it finally dawned on her how wrong she'd treated him. If he was lucky, she'd cry the way he cried, and she'd be so upset she'd break up with Poppa Wheelie and he'd cry too. Lincoln's lips peeled back from his teeth in a sneer and his fingernails dug into the soft, fleshy padding of his palms. Please, lame-o, I'm so sorry, I understand how great of a guy you are now, I was a fool to do that to you. I'll do anything to make it up to you, anything. Forgive me!

If she was really and truly sorry...maybe he would forgive her. He didn't want to think that he would, but he was weak, and under all the simmering anger and writhing pain, he was still in love with her, and the image of her glowing face made him shiver in delight.

No, no he wouldn't. She might be beautiful on the outside, but on the inside she was the devil. She was like a fruit that is ripe and healthy on the surface, but is black and rotted beneath.

Well...maybe he was being too harsh. People make mistakes, and that's what she was doing now, wasn't it? Making a mistake?

Then again, the way she acted last night...she wouldn't even look at him, and when he tried to talk to her, she either ignored him or snapped at him to be quiet. I'm texting, lame-o. My boyfriend Poppa Wheelie's going to be here soon and he's sooo much better than you.

Hot rage wafted through Lincoln's chest like a furnace blast, and his fists tightened. He felt like hitting something, lashing out and denting the fridge or smashing through the wall.

Or breaking Poppa Wheelie's face.

The image of that fat SOB lying on the ground with a busted nose brought a smile to Lincoln's lips. I'm sorry I stole your girlfriend, he said, bits of broken teeth flying from his mouth.

In his fantasy, Lincoln kicked him right in his bulging gut. Take that, lard ass! Poppa Wheelie started to cry, his blubber shaking like Jello in a pan, and he begged for mercy, but Lincoln was a vengeful God, kicking, kicking, kicking until the police dragged him off. When he explained the situation, the cops took out their billy clubs and started beating him too.

He was back in the kitchen now without remembering how he got there. Lucy sat at the table bent over a notebook and writing, the tip of her pen dancing across the page. She sensed him, looked up, and watched as he went to the sliding glass door and turned. "Still upset about Ronnie Anne?" she asked.

"No," he said, "I'm mad."

Lucy stared at him for a moment. "Good," she finally said, "what she did was wrong and you have every right to be, but don't let it…"

"It's consuming me, like a fire," he said, clenching and unclenching his fists. It coursed through his veins, a righteous, burning fury like lava, and keeping it from erupting was getting harder by the minute.

"You shouldn't give her that kind of power over you," Lucy said, "forget her and move on. Don't dwell and don't co -"

"I'm going to confront her."

Lucy sighed. "Whatever."

He balled his fists and went into the living room, where Luan, Leni, Lori, and Luna sat on the couch in front of the TV. Luan turned, grinned, and started to make a joke, but Lincoln held up his hand. "Not in the mood."

Luan hung her head.

Normally he would feel bad, but right now he was fuming, and the look of disappointment on her face filled him with savage satisfaction - she was no better than Ronnie Anne when you got right down to it; they were both girls and they were both mean to him. In fact, almost every girl he had ever known was a bitch to him, and treated him like a dog. They made fun of him, bossed him around, beat him up, stole from him, cheated him, lied to him. No more! Mr. Nice Guy Lincoln was dead and gone, and in his place was Asshole Lincoln. People liked assholes, they respected assholes - he was done being a doormat and a limp dishrag. Come at me, Lola, I'll punt you across the house like a football. Try and give a noogie, Lynn, I fucking dare you.

Pounding up the stairs, he went into his room, sat on the edge of his bed, and pulled his shoes on. He stood, grabbed his phone (no texts from Ronnie Anne, because of course not), and shoved it into his pocket. He went to the door, and Lucy appeared as if out of thin air. Anger bust in his chest, and he bared his teeth. "I told you to stop sneaking up on me!"

"I didn't sneak," she said. "Where are you going?"

"To give Ronnie Anne a piece of my mind."

Lucy sighed. "That's not a good idea, Lincoln. Just take a deep breath and relax. Don't give her space in your head."

She did have space in his heart, but she didn't want him - she wanted that fat slob Poppa Wheelie. They were probably together right now, her being all mushy and girly and him treating her like shit. Grab me a pop from the fridge, will ya, sugar tits?

Yes, sir, anything for you. Do you want a sandwich, too? Do you want to hit me again?

A quiver went through Lincoln's stomach. "I'm not going to just sit there and take this from her. I'm going to tell her exactly how I feel. Now if you'll excuse me." He started to brush past her, but she wouldn't move.

"I'm telling you, you're -"

His anger burst, and before he knew what he was doing, he shot out his arms and shoved her roughly back; her feet tangled and she fell onto her butt.

Shock and remorse threatened to penetrate the haze of his rage, but he shoved them away and went down the stairs, Lucy trailing him with her eyes. "You're making a mistake," she called.

Lincoln ignored her and went through the front door.

Watch out, Ronnie Anne, here I come.


"Are you sure about this?" Lana asked uncertainly.

"Of course I am," Lola piped from across the table. She poured a measure of tea into a plastic cup and took a long drink, her pinkie extended daintily. Lana looked down at the magazine folded before her on the table. It wasn't a cool magazine like the one she found at the dump yesterday, it was something called Cosmopolitan - all girly and pink. Just looking at it made her want to puke.

They'd been here all morning, Lola doing her best to teach Lana her secrets, which boiled down to I'm Lola, it just comes natural, I guess. As a last resort, Lola whipped the magazine out and told her to read an article called How To Get A Guy To Notice You. She was half-way through and a lot of the stuff it was saying didn't make sense.

Before going out, primp until you've tapped into your inner Kate Upton. When you're looking and feeling your best, guys will sense that uberconfidence, which is practically catnip to men.

Uh, who's Kate upton and what's catnip?

Get him talking about something he loves. When a guy's talking about something he's really into, he'll get amped and subconsciously associate those feel-good vibes with you.

I'm not an expert, but isn't that dishonest?

Spritz perfume into your hair before going out, then lightly flip your locks when your guy is near. Scent is the sense that's most closely tied to memory, so he'll associate that sweetness with you as he thinks about you later.

Okay, now that wasn't a bad idea. "Can I borrow some perfume?" she asked.

"It's on the vanity," Lola said.

Getting up, Lana went over and scanned the many bottles lined up in front of the mirror - there were dozens of every shape, size, and color. It was kind of overwhelming; she bit her lower lip and looked at each one. Which should she choose? What if it was a smell he didn't like? What if he was allergic to it and he broke out in hives and swelled up like a balloon? Heh. That'd be cool, but he probably wouldn't be in the mood to do sex. Almost dying has a way of doing that to you.

Finally, she settled on a purple glass bottle with a hot pink label. At the table, she sat and fiddled with the lid, finally getting it undone and nearly dropping it. Lola sipped tea and watched.

Alright, here goes. She held the bottle over her head and upended it: Cold liquid splashed onto her hair and ran down the sides of her face, stinging her eyes. Ow! WHY DOES BEING CLEAN HURT SO MUCH?

"Lana!" Lola cried. "You're using too much!" Like a shot, she sprang over the table and snatched the bottle away. Lana watched through her sodden bangs as Lola shook it and peeked into the hole. When she looked up and glared, Lana smiled sheepishly. "That was a forty dollar bottle of perfume," she said tightly.

"Sorry," Lana said. She moved her hair out of her face; perfume dripped onto her lap and the table, lending her the appearance of a dog who just came in from the rain.

Lola took a deep, angry breath. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"But -"

"Good day,." She crossed her arms and whipped her head away.

"But -"

"Not another word. You're no longer welcome here.""

Sighing, Lana got to her feet. "Can I keep the magazine?"

"Take it."

Lana grabbed it and went into the hallway, her head hung. That's what I get for trying to be clean and girly - it's just not me. I'm a dirty, filthy pig and I always will be. Lincoln doesn't want a dirty, filthy pig, though...he'd want a girl like Lola. I was a fool to think he'd want to do sex with me, especially gross sex. Sigh.

I just have to work harder.

She dropped to her butt, leaned her back against the wall, and opened the magazine. Let's see what else I can do to make Lincoln think I'm Kate Upton

When you're walking by your guy, arch your back, press your arms to your side, and take long strides. This all-eyes-on-me strut elongates your body, and will command his uninterrupted gaze.

Really? Guys care about how you walk? Why are they so picky? What's wrong with the way I walk?

She felt even worse now, but she really wanted to do sex with Lincoln, so she forced herself to her feet. Clutching the magazine in one hand, she squared her shoulders, held her head high, and threw one leg out in front of her in a wide arc, then the other, her arms flat against her sides. One leg, two leg, one leg, two leg. Ahead, Lisa came out of her room, saw her, and narrowed her eyes. "Why are you goosestepping down the hall?"

"It's what guys like," Lana explained.

Lisa stared blankly. "If their name is Adolf Hitler."

"What?" Lana asked and came to a halt.

Lisa sighed. "You look like a Nazi is what I'm saying. And Nazis are not attractive."

Lana threw her head back and moaned. "I'll never get Lincoln to like me!" As soon as the words were out, she realized her mistake and clamped her hand over her mouth.

It was too late, though; Lisa's eyes narrowed even more, and her lips puckered like she'd just tasted something sour. "I should have known," she said, her voice low and accusatory. "I assumed that your repugnant pursuits would end at actively seeking an incestuous relationship with your own brother, but I see I was mistaken."

Uh...Lisa say what?

"You are a disgusting and repulsive creature, Lana," Lisa said, "and I am so ashamed to be related to you that henceforth, I will no longer consider you my sister. From this point on, you are a regrettable houseguest that I will tolerate, but nothing more. You are hereby banned from entering my laboratory and you are not to speak to me unless I speak to you first. Is that understood?"

Lana didn't know a lot of the words her little sister used, but she got the general idea, and it pierced her heart like a blade. "Yes," she said heavily.

"Good," Lisa said, then looked Lana up and down. "Toad." With that, she brushed past and went down the stairs. Lana watched her go, then dropped to the floor, crossing her legs and resting her face in her upturned palms. Great, now Lisa and Lola were mad at her. Maybe she should forget -

Lincoln came up the stairs, his cute little butt wiggling in his jeans, and Lana's breath caught. He went into his room, sat on the bed, and put his shoes on. Seeing him there - on a bed, where sex happens - made Lana's crotch tingle and her skin heat up like metal in a forge. Okay, screw Lisa and her big words, she wanted Lincoln to do sex with her and that was that.

She should try now.

Her stomach squeezed and her heart started to race. She could go in, close the door behind her, and do things to his body that would make Lisa swoon, then let him do things to her body.

Suddenly, her underwear felt very damp, and when she got to her legs, her knees shook; her heart hammered and her breathing came in shallow gasps. She took a step forward, the first on her way to nirvana...then froze when Lucy came up the stairs and stood in Lincoln's doorway. Lincoln towered over her, his face red and his jaw clenched.

"I told you to stop sneaking up on me!"

"I didn't sneak," Lucy said flatly. "Where are you going?"

"To give Ronnie Anne a piece of my mind," Lincoln replied.

The mention of that name went through Lana like a cold, needling wind, and her eyes narrowed. Ronnie Anne Santiago, the girl Lincoln loved - Lana hated her guts because Lincoln should love me!

Lucy sighed. "That's not a good idea, Lincoln. Just take a deep breath and relax. Don't give her space in your head."

"I'm not going to just sit there and take this from her," Lincoln said. "I'm going to tell her exactly how I feel. Now if you'll excuse me."

He tried to pass, but Lucy wouldn't move, so he shoved her and she fell onto her butt. Lana's jaw dropped and her eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. He pounded down the stairs, and Lucy called after him that he was making a mistake.

Wow.

That was hot, I didn't know Lincoln liked to roughhouse! Ooooh, this is gonna be so much fun. She grinned, but frowned when she remembered where he was going...to see Ronnie Anne.

Well...I'm not letting him get away that easily.

She hurried down the hall and then down the stairs, getting outside just as Lincoln rode off down the sidewalk on his bike. Her heart raced and adrenaline pumped through her veins. Oh, no you don't, she thought. She went over to the end of the porch, leapt over the railing, landed on her feet, and rushed into the garage. Her bike leaned against the far wall, black and green with a black wicker basket attached to the handles. She went over, got on, and started after.

Here I come, Linc.